


Untamed

by KelticBanshee



Series: Seduction Moves 'verse [12]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelticBanshee/pseuds/KelticBanshee





	Untamed

Tosh is cold. The chill of the night, the almost-not-there drizzle that has been falling for a while now and the wind are starting to get to her. Despite her coat, she shivers. Tiny droplets of rain settle on her hair and her face, reflecting light and breaking it into countless rainbows. She really should go home, run a hot bath, and try to leave the day behind.

But she knows she can't. She can't forget Owen lying on the autopsy table, all cold and pale and lifeless. She can't forget the fact that he came back to life. Or rather, was dragged back to life. And now he's... Neither dead nor alive. She can't just go home and pretend life just goes on, as she's been doing for the last few years. _This_ is too strange, too unnatural, too unnerving, even for Torchwood.

She shivers, and this time it had nothing to do with feeling cold. Or rather it does, but it is a different kind of cold that sneaks down her back.

She really, really, should go home.

Instead, she lets her feet take her around, just as she's been doing for he last couple of hours. Cardiff is almost quiet around her - it must be the late hour. Sensible people are most likely already asleep. Not so sensible people are probably hiding in nightclubs and pubs. Weevils are probably out looking for food, or a fight, or whatever it is that brings them out to the surface. Nothing new, nothing changes – yet everything is different.

She stops in her tracks when she realises where she is. Cathays. She's just a few doors away from Ianto's place, that little Victorian-on-the-outside, modern-on-the-inside house Ianto is starting to call "home", despite the many nights he still spends at the Hub. Slowly, she convinces her feet to keep walking, until she's just outside Ianto's garden gate.

There's a light on in the front room, almost as if inviting her in. She can't help the smile - somehow it wouldn't surprise her if Ianto knew she was coming, even though she never intended to. With a sigh, she walks up the garden path and knocks on the door.

A moment later, Ianto opens the door. It's a very different Ianto to the one she left behind in the Hub earlier: the suit and tie and shirt are gone, replaced by a tshirt and pyjama bottoms. Surprisingly - or not, after all this time - Ianto still manages to look all prim and proper, despite the tired look on his face, the ruffled hair and that almost scruffy _something_ that settles on him when he takes off the suit.

"Hi!" She struggles for words. What can she say? None of the things in her head make much sense, even to her. "I shouldn't have come, you're probably busy and I wouldn't want to..." She turns to leave, but doesn't get very far. Ianto takes a step back and opens the door wider, waving a hand to invite her in. "I'm sure you have better things to do than..."

Ianto smiles, that strange smile of his that she has never managed to decipher, and shakes his head. She can't help but smile back and wonder – more than usual – what's going on inside his head.

"Come in." She finds herself inside, door closing behind her, coat being taken off her, before she has a chance to rethink this. "I've got wine cooling." He gives her a long look, top to bottom and back up again. "I've got dry clothes as well if you'd like to change." She shakes her head.

"I'm fine, thanks. And I wouldn't want to interrupt..." A warm hand on the small of her back, Ianto gently pushes her towards the living room at the end of the corridor. She has to blink when she walks in. Gone are all the boxes that filled the space the first time she came here. The walls are covered with shelves, full of books and DVDs and even the odd small trinket. The kitchen seems well used, even though there's not a single item out of place. There's a certain brightness to the room, despite the almost darkness illuminated only by a bunch of candles spread all over. "I'm sure..."

Ianto places a finger on her lips, and she completely loses her train of thought. There's another quiet smile, and a glass of wine she can barely hold. She takes a sip, turning around so she doesn't have to face Ianto's inquisitive look. She knows he won't ask questions, he never does. But knowing she doesn't have the answers is unnerving in and of itself.

"Jack's not here." She looks over her shoulder and finds Ianto sitting on the sofa, candlelight creating a strange effect of shadows on his face. There's no snark in his words, no resentment. Trust Ianto to understand that other people sometimes need their spaces, and to not take it personally. "He's probably brooding over Cardiff, perched on some roof or another at some entirely unsafe height, blaming himself for everything that happened in the last day." Ianto's lips curl in the beginning of an amused smile.

"Just as usual." She gives in and sits on the sofa, taking off her shoes and curling on the opposite end to where Ianto is sitting. Without a word, he reaches to the bottom shelf of the coffee table and offers her a blanket. Putting her glass down, she takes the blanket and spreads it over her, only now noticing just how cold she really is.

"Just as usual." She snorts at the banter in Ianto's voice. Things must be going well between him and Jack, if Ianto's attitude is anything to go by. She knows just how well he can hide everything he wants to under a mask of detached amusement, but she'd like to think he's more open and honest with her than he is with the rest of the team. Maybe even more than he is with Jack, when it comes to certain things.

"I'm guessing reminding him it's not his fault, and it's our job, and we know bloody well what working for Torchwood entails wouldn't make a difference?" Ianto shakes his head, and she has to push away the pang of guilt about her own secrets. Nobody – not even Ianto, unless he's hacked into her personal files – knows exactly how she ended up in Torchwood. Nobody knows she cannot leave, at least not just yet. Truth to be told, she's not sure she would, even if she could.

"Nope." Ianto takes a long sip of his glass. She cuddles under the blanket, pulling it up a bit more and trying not to shiver. "You really should get out of those wet clothes."

"Yes, mother." Ianto snorts. "They're not wet, really." Ianto rolls his eyes. "I'm just cold."

"Come over here." Ianto opens his arms and before she knows it she's balancing her glass precariously in her hands as she moves around and settles close to him. It feels good to hide from the world like this, to warm up and be reminded that life still goes on, and that there are still things that are worth fighting for. Ianto arranges the blanket around her and places an arm around her shoulders.

For a long time – about two not-so-slowly-drunk glasses of wine – there's only silence, with the occasional murmur of a candle burning a bit too bright for a moment, or going out on its own, and the wind still blowing outside. She should know better than to drink on an empty stomach, but somehow she doesn't care right now. There's too much spinning in her head to care.

"So, is Jack going to show up halfway through the night, then?" Why on Earth they always end up talking about Jack is anybody's guess. Probably because the mighty Captain Harkness casts a very long shadow in the lives he touches, and it's always good to be reminded that, immortality and all, Jack is still very human. When Torchwood allows him to be.

"Probably." Ianto puts down his glass and she can almost hear the pout when he finds the bottle empty. If she knows him at all, there is another one – or another two – cooling somewhere. Not in the fridge, of course – that would be as unthinkable to Ianto as instant coffee as a viable daily alternative. But she can't blame him for not wanting to move right now.

"I should go. Wouldn't want him to..." A soft kiss on her head, and the thought vanishes. She tries to hold on to it, to remind herself of all the kinds of awkward that would happen if Jack found her here. Not that Jack would ask, not that she would answer if he did ask, not that Ianto would tell. But it would still be awkward. And life in Torchwood is already complicated enough without adding yet more onto it.

"He knows." She raises an eyebrow, not as surprised as she should be. For people who keep such great secrets from the world, and who kept – and probably still keep – such big truths from each other, Ianto and Jack seem to share an awful lot of information. Something tells her that it doesn't just _look like_ those two are having entire conversations without saying a word when they stare at each other. Somehow it wouldn't surprise her if they could decide where to go for a meal after work in one or two stares...

"What did he..?" She struggles for words. "What did he say?"

"The usual can-I-join-in bravado." She waits, knowing there's more to it than just that. Ianto lets out a sigh. "Which means he understands why."

"Maybe he could explain it to me, then." Ianto's arm tightens around her; she puts the glass down on the table and moves closer, a hand settling casually on his chest, feeling the rhythm of heart and breath and life.

Somehow her mind drifts and she starts thinking about Owen, about the many times she'd hope to share something like this with him. Until she came to realise that he wasn't the kind of guy to want a cuddle and quiet conversation over a glass of wine. He's way too broken inside, has been for too long, to want anything that reminds him of human contact and human touch beyond the occasional one-night stand. He's probably even lost that now.

Sometimes she wishesshe could hate Owen for being the twat he can be at times. Sometimes she just wishes she could do something about all that pain and hurt and rage inside him. Not that he would even let her try.

"He'll just give you one of those undecipherable smiles and tell you you'll figure it out, in due time." She shakes her head and tries to drag herself back to here and now, to the warmth and the comfort and the solace that Ianto somehow manages to bring by just being here.

"Just like you do sometimes." Her voice is shaking, and she is not even sure why. Ianto chuckles.

"Don't blame me, I took lessons from a master of the art."

She can tell Ianto is smiling. He seems to smile more these days – even when the world threatens to go to Hell and take them all along for a ride, Ianto seems to find a smile to encourage her, or to annoy Owen, or to defy whatever it is they are facing. Things have changed a lot in the last year.

"What's he like, when he's not Captain Harkness?" She pauses for a second, trying to find a way to explain. "You know, when he doesn't have to..."

"Carry the world on his shoulders? She nods. "It depends." She smiles. She wasn't really expecting an answer, at least not a proper one – Ianto can be very private when he wants to, despite everything he shares with her. She can feel him tense, almost uneasy.

When Ianto starts talking, it feels like a dam breaking. She loses track of how long they just sit there, Ianto giving her details that aren't really an answer and don't really register in her memory, but somehow give her an insight on Jack that no answer could ever have given her.

Ianto talks about everything and anything. About the feel of Jack's teeth sinking in his neck, the moment of vulnerability followed by implicit trust. About the box of photographs Jack doesn't know Ianto found in his desk, all full of memories and people long gone, and how it resonates so strongly with him, because he has a similar one. About the never-voiced – and never demanded – apology Jack gave him for disappearing after Abaddon. About the silent promise never to leave again, and the tacit agreement that there are secrets they will both keep.

She brings the blanket closer around her, thoughts spinning as she struggles to absorb the downpour of information. Ianto's voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and it all makes her feel she's getting an unheard of insight into Ianto's most private world. Why he trusts her of all people with his secrets is anybody's guess. But then again, as Owen _tried_ to say once, who the hell do you talk to when you live the life they do?

Ianto keeps on talking. About the dark days when Ianto knows Jack's remembering someone he lost – a lover, a colleague, a friend, when it looks like Jack will eventually break in two and nothing seems to help. About the many surprising things Jack can do with only his mouth and hands tied behind his back, and how they can come in handy in the most unexpected situations. About the way Jack challenges each and every of Ianto's boundaries, preconceptions and beliefs. About the quiet reassurance when the world goes to shit and it feels like the pain will never end. About the nightmares that keep Jack awake at night, and about the ones that face him in broad daylight.

All of that sprinkled with pauses, silences that say much more than it's healthy, and veiled threats to deny he ever said anything and keep her on decaf forevermore if she ever mentions this night again. Somewhere in the middle of a very interesting anecdote, she falls asleep.

"Rise and shine, kids!" Jack's voice booming in the room wakes her up. "Come on, wake up!" When she opens her eyes, there is barely a hint of daylight coming through the window. "It's a brand new day!" Yeah, Jack, maybe a couple of timezones eastwards. Here, most people would still consider this _sleeping time_. But then again, whenever did Torchwood follow nice and easy nine-to-five timetables.

Her first reaction is to hide deeper under the blanket, and check that she is still dressed, but she manages not to move. Well, just her feet, which she finds to be still covered in barely dry socks = she must be fully dressed then – socks are always the first thing to go. Her neck hurts – she should know better than to sleep on a sofa using someone else as a pillow, but sometimes one feels too comfortable to move when falling asleep.

Ianto shuffles and stretches awkwardly, one arm still wrapped around her. There's a noisy yawn, muscles tense under her and she can hear bones cracking in a way that would alarm her if she didn't know Ianto's shoulder always sounds like that in the mornings.

"I thought you said he didn't have keys to your place." She tries to whisper, but Jack shoots her a look that can only mean he's heard her as he makes his way to the kitchen. Ianto snorts. She can hear Jack rummaging in the kitchen, cupboard doors being open and almost slammed shut. Ianto's smile turns into a growl.

"He doesn't." She sits up and gives Ianto a puzzled look. "Not that he would ever need a key, our fearless leader." She gives him a small smile, and pats his arm. "There are fresh towels in the bathroom, if you want a shower."

"Oh, come on, sleepy heads, I even brought breakfast!" She nods. She can hear Jack's steps behind her, and a tray being carelessly placed on the table between the sofas. Then Jack – without his greatcoat – sits down on the other side of her, and offers her a plate full of cakes and pasties. She stands up and tries to calmly walk to the bathroom, fighting the urge to hide and never show her face again. When she locks the door behind her, she lets out a sigh of relief.

On the other side of the door, the sofa creaks, and glasses tumble to the floor. Slowly, she runs the shower and waits for the room to fill with steam. Something tells her a _really_ long shower is in order. It's either that, or joining the fun out there, and that is one boundary she's not sure she's ready to cross just yet.

If Jack mentions this morning to anybody, she's going to kill him.


End file.
